


foyer

by magicianprince



Category: Havemercy Series - Jaida Jones & Danielle Bennett
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicianprince/pseuds/magicianprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Royston wakes up most mornings with Hal’s hair pressed against his mouth and a jarring lack of sensation in his arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	foyer

**Author's Note:**

> *seduces younger man with promises of a higher education*

Royston wakes up most mornings with Hal’s hair pressed against his mouth and a jarring lack of sensation in his arm. This morning, something is different, and he realizes when his fingers twitch against the sheets that Hal is gone from his front. Quashing the instinctive panic that rises in his stomach, Royston blinks groggily and moves to leave the bed.

A firm hold around his waist stops him.

Royston peers down at the offending limb in momentary confusion before recognizing the hand as Hal’s.

“Sorry,” says Hal from behind him, voice faint from sleep.

Royston twists around slowly in order to get a better look at him. “There’s no need to apologize, Hal. Good morning,” he adds, fighting back a yawn.

Hal’s gotten a haircut recently—it no longer falls into his eyes as it had before, and he aims a sleepy blue gaze up at Royston, apparently too content with their positions to move. Royston lies back down, facing Hal this time.

“Good morning,” Hal murmurs. He makes a soft, pleased sound when Royston kisses him briefly.

“Any reason for the sudden change?” Royston inquires, only half teasing. Curious as to why Hal had apologized, he reaches a hand up to smooth down some of Hal’s sleep-ruffled hair, waiting.

Hal sighs, and is seemingly now awake enough to have the mind to bite his lip self-consciously. “I got up during the night,” he explains, “and I…” He trails off, then, conflicted.

“Yes?” Royston prompts.

“I just wanted to hold you,” says Hal, hushed, and Royston kisses him again for that, overcome with affection.

“You can hold me any time,” he tells Hal, and presses his lips to Hal’s cheeks when he blushes.

:

Around noon, they are both generally busy—Hal with the ‘Versity, and Royston with the curving dome of the Basquiat.

Early during Hal’s days living in Thremedon, Royston had taken to bringing him around on walks through the city. He’d instructed Hal to let the streets take him wherever he pleased—Hal could not have covered even a quarter of the city in one day, but he’d tried his best, and when the light had begun to fade out of the sky Royston had led them back home, step by step, always having known exactly where they were.

It’s these walks that Hal thinks of when offering just about anyone directions. (He has a pleasant look about him, Royston says, which leads people to seek help from him, though Royston never seems cross about it.) This city is Royston’s first love. It is Hal’s third.

(His days at the ‘Versity are filled with familiar unknowns.)

:

Hal returns home first in the evenings. Selfishly, Royston prefers it that way. He’s not surprised by the silence waiting for him as he pushes the door open. Hal’s shoes are by the door, as if he’d been in too much of a rush to remember to leave them anywhere else, and Royston smiles before moving further into the house.

He finds Hal seated upon the desk in Royston’s study, leaned back against the wall, a stack of romans settled neatly beside him. He has his nose buried in another. Royston tries to be obvious about his entrance into the room, but Hal doesn’t even twitch, too absorbed in the pages.

Three minutes pass.

“Oh,” says Hal, looking up in embarrassment. “Welcome home.”

“Is that a new one?” asks Royston, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. He steps nearer.

Hal shuts the volume and places it carefully on top of the other romans, slanting forward and catching his fingers on Royston’s coat. “It is,” is all he says before drawing Royston close for a kiss. Royston rests his hands on Hal’s hips and sighs, not unhappily.

Hal curls his fingers more steadfastly in Royston’s clothes.

:

At night, Hal waits until Royston has climbed into bed with a roman before carefully choosing one of his own and sitting close, the two of them propped up on pillows side by side. They read in companionable silence until Hal discovers a passage in his roman that he likes; Royston sets his own volume down in his lap and rests his chin on top of Hal’s head, wrapping an arm around thin shoulders. He closes his eyes as Hal reads to him, and the day that Hal loses his wonder and curiosity and thirst for knowledge will be the day the stars tumble from their points in the sky.

It is a day, Royston hopes, that is far off.


End file.
